


Tumbleweeds

by Losille



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 07:26:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13677030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Losille/pseuds/Losille
Summary: Tom gets stranded on a remote desert highway and is rescued by an attractive woman and her four younger siblings. When he goes back to their ranch for the night, he begins to realize things aren't quite what he originally thought.More about the story here.





	Tumbleweeds

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I know I have five thousand other things going and I said I wasn’t going to do this, but this prologue would not leave me alone. I hope you enjoy it!

**Prologue**

_-Tom-_

“And do you, Thomas William Hiddleston, come here freely and without reservation to give yourself to Shea Catherine Winters in marriage?”

I swallowed around the gigantic lump in my throat, managing to find the confidence earned from years of work in theatre. “I do.”

The simple phrase sounded loud and clear, confident and sure in the empty Las Vegas chapel. Our officiant nodded his head and looked to the woman facing me with a pleasant smile. “Shea, please give your bouquet to Jeannette.”

She turned around to the older woman, our officiant’s wife and co-owner of the little establishment far away from The Strip, who served as Shea’s matron-of-honor.

Not for the first time, a punch of misgiving hit me square in the gut. This was probably the worst choice of my life, but it was the right one. I simply wished we could have done the whole thing above board. Shea’s sister, Elizabeth, should have been here for her to hand her silk-flowered bouquet off to, not some grizzled old woman that had, just before the ceremony, snuffed the butt of her cigarette out on the ground just outside the door.

“Please face each other and hold hands,” the officiant said, motioning between us.

A deep blush bloomed on Shea’s skin and traveled down her neck into the simple white cotton sundress she wore. I’d sent her to one of the finest designer shops in Las Vegas to find a dress for the evening, but she had turned up with nothing saying the dress and boots she’d brought with her were fine. And perhaps they were, with the simple eyelet fabric and flowy nature of the ruffle around her knees. It was so her: effortless.

Country.

Wholesome.

And I was about to soil—and spoil—her forever. Maybe that’s why I’d wanted to dress her up, to make myself feel better.

Shea’s work-roughened hands trembled in mine. I hadn’t noticed her shaking earlier, but I’d seen the apprehension on her face, felt her discomfort. I expected it but found myself mystified that she still stood in front of me with her proud chin raised, speaking her vows to me. This woman was made of steel and grit and I was in awe of her.

I followed after her, parroting the officiant’s words to Shea. When we first arrived, I’d thought about taking “love” out of the vows, because that wasn’t what was between us. Not yet, at least. Who knew if it ever would be. But, in the end, I’d agreed to leave it in there. Because I did promise to love her, in the way a besotted man honors a woman made of steel. Wasn’t that the whole reason I’d suggested we do this? So I could give her the life she’d been refused under her father’s dictatorship?

“The ring?”

I startled, looking at the man beside me. I’d gotten lost in Shea’s yellow-green eyes. They had little flecks of gold around the pupil that made them shimmer both in excitement and in utter terror. I hoped it was the former, right now.

“Oh, yes,” I said, dipping a hand into my pocket and producing the ring I’d picked out at Harry Winston at the Bellagio while Shea had been with the personal shopper. Heavy in my palm, I glanced down at it and sucked in a deep breath. Small but substantial, the diamond infinity band sparkled in the overhead spotlight beaming down on us. Shopping for it had been a pip, especially when they’d asked what her engagement ring looked like. Since she had none, I’d had to think fast. Hopefully, she liked it.

As I took it between my fingers and grabbed her left hand, I met her eyes again. They were as large as saucers. “Do you like it?”

“It’s beautiful,” she said, her voice wavering. “But maybe too much.”

I shook my head. “You’re not going to be roping cattle anymore, Shea.”

She sighed. “I know, but… that’s not what…”

“I know, love,” I said.

There is was again. Love. It seemed so natural to say it with her in context, and yet I knew, academically, logically, it was ridiculous. We’d known each other for a grand total of six days. And here we were getting married. What did love have to do with any of it, anyway? This was about offering her every opportunity she craved, and everything else she should have had growing up, but had never received from her family. A smarter man wouldn’t have jumped right to marriage to make this happen for her, but that was the only way she could be convinced she’d be protected if she took a leap of faith and left her tiny Arizona home with me. So, I’d agreed to do this.

Never mind I could already hear my publicist dying from lack of oxygen once I called him in the morning to warn him about what we’d done.

“Now,” the officiant said, “place the ring on Shea’s finger and repeat after me.”

And so I did, sliding the ring up her long, delicate finger. On the side, was a fading bruise where she’d caught it in some sort of farming equipment well before I met her. But the ring still sparkled, shiny and new on her hand. A symbol of our commitment to make each other happy in this crazy, cruel world, at least for a time.

The officiant droned on afterward, but I focused on the healthy smattering of freckles spread across Shea’s nose and cheeks. They were darkened from the long hours she spent in the sun on a daily basis. I wondered how much they’d lighten now that she wouldn’t be out there doing that, how she’d be back in London with me in the grey fall and winter. They were the most adorable thing when she scrunched her nose up at me; I certainly didn’t relish losing the ability to see them.

“Tom?”

A cold chill skittered up my back, shaking me awake. “Hmm?”

“Are you going to, uh…” she hedged, nodding at the officiant, who looked at me expectantly.

“What?” I asked.

The officiant laughed, a big jolly one that made his protruding belly jiggle. “You know, I see a lot of couples in here, but only a few men have ever gotten so lost in staring at their beloved’s face that they didn’t hear the best part of the ceremony.”

“Oh?” I asked weakly. Maybe he knew more than I did. After all, this was his business, wasn’t it?

“Let’s try this again, shall we?” the officiant asked with a cheeky grin. “Now by the power vested in me by the state of Nevada, it is my honor and delight to declare you husband and wife. You may seal this declaration with a kiss.”

_OH!_

I turned to my bride to realize she was now bright red. But then I stopped myself.  _My bride!_  Huh. That was strange.

I considered grabbing her into my arms and planting a big one on her, but if there was one thing I’d learned in our short acquaintance, it was that a show of affection like that in public would scare and embarrass her. So, I reined it in, maintaining my politeness as I stepped forward to close the distance between us.

Shea bent her head, looking at my chest, chewing on her lip. I wasn’t about to have any of that. Not at all. I slipped a finger under her chin and pressed up until she met my gaze. “You’re mine now.”

“It would seem so,” she said on a breathy giggle. However, when she realized she said it aloud, she bashfully glanced at the officiant.

“Don’t worry about him,” I said, bending just enough, hovering over her mouth.

She smelled of warm summer days and melted cinnamon sugar and it was everything I could do not to devour her. Delicately, ever so carefully, I pressed my lips to hers, drinking her in, committing the feel of her lips to my memory. I’d done this before, of course, at least I had in my dreams throughout the week. And during very cold showers.

When I stepped back and looked down at her, she was motionless, her eyes closed, set adrift in her own revelry. But if I wasn’t mistaken, that was pleasure and serenity written all over her adorable round face.

She finally looked at me and laughed again, scrunching her nose up. Her freckles  _were_  adorable. With a sigh, she turned to the officiant. “May we, uh, go?”

“Of course, my dear!” he said. “Go, celebrate your union, Mr. and Mrs. Hiddleston!”

I wasted no time pulling her out of the chapel sanctuary and out of the building.

It wasn’t until we were finally in the back of our limo, though, that reality hit me.

_Husband and Wife._

_Mr. and Mrs. Hiddleston_.

What the hell did I do?


End file.
